


Pining and Perfume

by matildajones



Series: Tumblr Fics [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, M/M, Misunderstandings, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matildajones/pseuds/matildajones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> “Oh my god,” says Cora, wrinkling her nose. “I can smell the pining on you.”</i><br/><i> Derek ignores her.</i><br/>-<br/>In which Derek and Stiles get that little bit closer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pining and Perfume

**Author's Note:**

> It's a good idea to read the other parts in this series first!

 His body is jostled to one side when he enters the coffee shop and a burning liquid falls over Derek’s torso, down his pants and over his shoes. The heat is enough to turn his skin red and he hisses in pain, but of course the damage doesn’t last.

 That doesn’t stop him from being irritated though, gritting his teeth together and glaring furiously at the bumbling figure. A pair of hands is already reaching for some serviettes and the guy who spilt the drink begins to pat down Derek’s torso.

 “Fuck, I’m sorry; I definitely was not looking where I was going –”

 The sound cuts off when Derek and Stiles’ eyes meet. Derek stills and watches the way Stiles yanks his hands back, yelping, and his face flushes red while he stares at Derek, horrified. He sees the boy’s throat move as he swallows and Derek’s heart thuds a little louder.

 “Derek!” Stiles squeaks.

 He grunts in return, closing his eyes briefly as he takes in Stiles’ scent among the smell of coffee beans and other customers. It fits in well. Derek is not one to drink coffee – he’s not too fond of the taste and the stimulant does little for werewolves – but he’s not complaining about how Stiles’ scent swirls around the other aromas in the air.

 Stiles mistakes his silence and his glare for more anger and he grabs Derek’s wrist like he’s afraid he’ll run off too soon. Derek stares at it.

 “Um,” splutters Stiles. “Let me buy you your drink, please?”

 “I don’t drink coffee.”

 “You’re in a damn coffee shop,” he says back, his eyebrows scrunching together in judgement.

 Derek raises his chin. “The pastries are nice.”

 Stiles pauses to look at him. His long fingers are still curled around the skin at Derek’s pulse point, and he’s afraid that Stiles will be able to pick up on the thundering of his heart. There are so many things he wants and it’s been too long since he’s seen Stiles, but not long enough to forget the way he smells or the circumstances of their last meeting. He jerks his hand away.

 “I’m going to leave,” Derek says, feeling the cool air hit his hand once he frees himself of Stiles’ hold. Stiles glares at him and steps forward, blocking his path. His lips are pressed tight together, muffling his small whine of protest, and Stiles’ nostrils flare.

 “Stay,” he insists, and Derek gaze is not far from the long line of Stiles’ neck, where he’d smell so good if Derek put his nose just under Stiles’ ear. Derek swallows and shuffles on his feet, eyeing the door longingly. Stiles simply scowls and grabs his forearm. “It’s my birthday,” he snaps, “You have to sit with me.”

 Derek lets himself be tugged towards one of the booths, growling slightly as Stiles shoves him in. The boy goes to order another coffee and Derek’s throat goes dry, still feeling the ghost of Stiles’ grip, and he’s not sure what’s happening.

 Stiles plonks down opposite him.

 “Is it really your birthday?” Derek blurts out.

 “Um,” he says, “it’s tomorrow. I’ll be eighteen.”

 Derek says nothing.

 He feels Stiles’ knee start to bounce under the table and Derek watches the way his cheeks flush. “You, I, I haven’t seen you in a while.”

 Derek shrugs.

 “You weren’t there when I visited Cora.”

 Derek looks past Stiles’ shoulder. He thought he’d make things easier by leaving Stiles alone. It’s certainly meant that Derek hasn’t had the opportunity to make a fool out of himself. “I was busy,” he says.

 “Oh,” Stiles says quietly, looking down at his hands. Derek lets his eyes roam over Stiles’ face, over the dark moles that are dotted around soft lips, at the smooth skin over Stiles’ cheeks – tinged with a constant pink it seems – and Derek isn’t sure why he’s here. He’s not sure why Stiles has dragged him over even if he did spill his coffee on Derek’s shirt.

 “I should go,” starts Derek.

 Stiles shakes his head, waving his arms for him to stay. Derek turns back towards the table, remaining there despite the fact his shirt is sticking to him and he wants to change. He takes a breath. Maybe, maybe he can fix things. Maybe Stiles wants him to fix things. “We should catch up.”

 Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles scowls, taking back his hands and folding his arms.

 “Catch up,” Derek repeats flatly.

 “Yeah, it’s like what people do when they haven’t seen each other in a while,” Stiles tells him, sitting up when his coffee arrives. A pastry comes with it too and he shoves it in front of Derek. Stiles’ tone is light, like he’s making fun of Derek again, and Derek can relax a little. He’s used to this.

 “Fine,” Derek says, almost dramatically, “If whatever you have to say about your life won’t bore me to death.”

 Stiles cracks a grin, bringing his drink to his lips and leaning closer now that Derek is playing along. He feels something warm in his stomach, glad that he’s pleasing the kid a little. “Oh, it might,” he says. “So we should talk about yours instead.”

 Derek freezes.

 “You’re a writer,” Stiles says.

 He nods, neck stiff.

 “Poetry?”

 Derek rolls his eyes. “I run a blog. For werewolves.”

 “Okay,” says Stiles, and Derek hears his heart thud against his ribcage, quickening for a second before dying down. Their gazes meet and lock, both of them remembering the last time they talked about werewolves specifically. Derek wants to shrink back into his seat, starting to convince himself again that Stiles could never like him. He’s broken from his thoughts. “I’m as weird as you are!” Stiles blurts out, flushing. “Um, I know what I said. But, I, I’m weird too. And you’re a werewolf, and you’re weird, but not because you’re a werewolf.”

 Derek’s drops his gaze to his pastry and begins to pull it apart, stuffing it into his mouth. It’s still warm and it tastes good, the raspberry sauce oozing through. He swallows and hardly dares to look up.

 “You do realise you just called me weird again,” Derek tells him.

 “Yeah,” says Stiles, running his hands over his face. “Yeah, it’s just, yeah. I mean, you could work on the whole nose thing, I guess.”

 Derek glares at him.

 “Maybe I should go,” Stiles says in a hurry, hands spreading over the table to push himself up. The whole thing wobbles and Derek hooks his foot around Stiles’ ankle, forcing him to his seat. Stiles scowls up at him, falling back and kicking at Derek’s shins. Derek just locks his legs around Stiles’ feet, keeping him there and feeling the boy’s body heat through his jeans. Stiles’ heart beat rises and Derek can’t tell if it’s from surprise, or anger, or fear.

 “You can stay,” huffs Derek, “as long as I can call you weird too.”

 Stiles licks his lips, staring at Derek with something a little like hope in his wide, amber eyes. Derek takes a deep breath, obvious, taking Stiles’ scent in. He tries not to react; he tries not to fight it even though it drives him crazy. He relaxes his lungs and keeps his expression neutral. Stiles’ gaze follows him through it, the tips of his lips coming up in a faint smile as he registers Derek’s attempt to smell him and remain civil.

 “Okay,” says Stiles.

» 

 Things become a little easier after that, and Derek tries to spend a lot more time around the house just in case Cora decides to bring Stiles over. He misses – he misses Stiles’ scent, imagining it warm and full of content and nervousness, interlaced with Stiles’ laughter and his pink smile. Derek wants him so badly now, more than before, more now that they’re both trying to get along with each other.

 He wants to trail kisses along Stiles’ neck, he wants to mark his pale skin and leave his own scent to mix with Stiles’. And Derek can’t, because one coffee and a pastry doesn’t mean anything and Derek’s only been left with his own mind, thinking too much.

 “Oh my god,” says Cora, wrinkling her nose. “I can smell the  _pining_  on you.”

 Derek ignores her.

 Laura gives him a small smile. “We know you were with him the other day. We could smell him on you.”

 Derek grits his teeth together but he can’t help the way his wolf rises smugly, happy that they’d spent long enough together to have Stiles’ scent remain on him. If that was the case then Derek’s scent would be on Stiles too.

 Cora snorts. “You’re pathetic. Both of you are and I’m sick of having to put up with it.”

 “Then maybe you should do something about it,” Laura says at her, raising her eyebrows suggestively. Derek takes his cue to leave, heading out for his run before they can rope him into their awful plans.

» 

 Stiles comes over twice in the next week. Cora always texts and warns Derek so that he can choose to disappear or not. It’s nice not being surprised. It’s easier for Derek to act civil, preparing himself for Stiles’ scent.

 “Hey,” Stiles says, smiling nervously. Derek nods at him.

 He stays for dinner, sitting opposite Derek again, and when Derek’s not too distracted by Stiles’ scent, or his family giving him sideways looks, or Peter smirking at the end of the table, he actually contributes to the conversation.

 Derek manages to smile at Stiles before he leaves, and he hopes he didn’t imagine the way Stiles’ heartbeat sped up.

» 

 “So,” says Cora, glancing between the two of them. Stiles immediately buries his face in his hands and groans. Derek gives her a tired look. “When are the two of you going to go on a coffee date again?”

 “It wasn’t a date,” Stiles snaps, his cheeks a lovely red when he looks up. Derek stares at his shoes, wishing a lot that it had been a date. They’re all sitting in front of the tv and Stiles looks embarrassed, like he couldn’t possibly entertain the idea of going out with Derek.

 Cora simply hums, ignoring him.

 “Derek,” Stiles shoots him a look. “Tell her it wasn’t a date.”

 He sighs. “You tell her,” Derek says slowly, getting to his feet and climbing up the stairs. He doesn’t want to deal with this. Cora’s being a little shit on purpose. If there’s one thing he hates about being a werewolf it’s that Cora knows that every single time Stiles brushes past him his pulse rockets, or that whenever he gets a particularly strong burst of Stiles’ scent he’s aroused.

 “It wasn’t a date,” Stiles repeats.

 Derek sees her shrug as he leaves the room. “Well you are eighteen now, so it wouldn’t be illegal.”

 Stiles throws a cushion at Cora and from the hallway Derek can hear every word that Stiles tries to hush. He pauses in the hallway to listen.

 “Can you stop hinting at shit,” Stiles hisses. “Nothing is going to happen. You’re embarrassing me. I know,” and he sounds hopeless, “I know that nothing can happen. I looked it up. Werewolves are not fucking attracted to people who smell like shit. It’s not exactly something you can ignore, I get that, so I just, I like being around him, okay? I like his stupid scowl and it would just be a lot better if you stopped dangling around what I can’t have in my face.”

 Cora huffs. “Fine,” she says. “But you have to stop mentioning him at school.”

 Derek moves as quietly as he can to his bedroom. Cora’s been hinting at things for weeks now, until it stopped being anything close to a hint. Too many emotions press down on Derek’s shoulders. Hurt turned to hope and then to disappointment again.

 Stiles likes him. He  _likes_ Derek. But he would probably never understand how he smells to Derek. Would probably be freaked out by it and run in the opposite direction.

» 

Cora stomps up to his bedroom as soon as Stiles leaves the house. Derek glares at her from his bed.

 “You have to tell him!” she yells.

 “No,” hisses Derek. “I like it like this. It’s fine. He likes me, I think.”

 “Derek! Yes! He likes you.” She pauses. “Somehow.”

 His eyes flash in anger, well aware that his sister has stepped a little too far in his business. She seems to know it too, if the way she cowers at the door is any indication. Her shoulders slump forward but Cora still glares.

 “You heard him in the car,” Derek says in a low voice. “If he knew how he smelt, how much his scent affects me if I let it, how much I wanted to get lost in it before I even knew him he’d freak out! He’d be gone like that! He’s already said what he thinks.”

 Cora rubs her eyes and sighs. She gives Derek a pitiful look and steps closer. “You should tell him,” she says softly. “You owe it to yourself and if he changes his mind it’s his own fault and I’ll hate him forever and it’s the most dickish thing he could do.”

 Derek stands with his lips pressed firmly together, staring at her with anger and hopelessness. Cora comes forward, her hands coming to rest on his arms before she rubs her hair just under Derek’s jaw line. It’s in apology and comfort, it only taking a moment before he sighs and wraps his arms around his sister.

» 

 He doesn’t know how it happened but Stiles is in his room. It’s driving Derek crazy.

 “Your sister’s going to the supermarket,” he says quietly. “She said you’d keep me company until she gets back.”

 Derek sits up on his bed and reaches over to the floor for a shirt. It’s been severely awkward since Stiles realised Derek overhead him the other day. Stiles’ scent spikes with arousal and he blushes as Derek’s shirt goes over his head.

 He smells so fucking good. So fucking good.

 “Okay,” says Derek, watching the way Stiles nervously picks up one of Derek’s high school basketball trophies and puts it down again. He’s getting his scent everywhere and Derek looks at him with a scowl on his face.

 Stiles seems to realise what he’s doing. “Sorry!” he exclaims. The trophy falls to the ground in his haste put it down. “Sorry. I know, I know you don’t like the way I smell,” he says almost bitterly. “We can leave your room if you want.”

 Derek sits cross-legged on his bed, wearing sweatpants, and Stiles’ eyes fall over his body and his legs. His arousal is clear and obvious and Derek shuts his eyes, trying to take in a shallow breath through his mouth.

 When he opens his eyes Stiles is staring wide. He has a permanent blush on his face, and he knows that Derek can smell whatever’s happening with his body. Neither of them moves.

 A few minutes of silence pass and because he’s so fucking lost in Stiles’ scent, in the way it coats his bedroom and makes Derek’s mouth water, he finds himself speaking.

 “I don’t,” he says.

 “What?” Stiles looks up.

 “I don’t hate the way you smell.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments on the other parts of the series!!
> 
> Originally posted on my [tumblr](http://matildajones.tumblr.com) :) I'll be updating soon :D


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